


tonight i'm getting ripped wide open

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-12
Updated: 2007-11-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:11:56
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Oneshot on Sam and his thoughts about Stanford.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: [Miss Cinnamon](http://samdean.archive.nu/viewuser.php?action=favauth&uid=756) is my beautiful beta, and she has so awesomely stuck by me during major writer's block. Much like you amazing people. :) Reviews, pretty please? xoxo  


* * *

_I was sitting on my doorstep,_

_I hung up the phone and it fell out of my hand,_

_But I knew I had to do it,_

_And he wouldn't understand._

 

Sam swore under his breath and let the screen door slam shut behind him with a resounding _thwack_. He could still hear Dad cursing in the kitchen, the sound of pots and pans being tossed about and thrown into cabinets haphazardly.

 

All Sam had done was refuse another hunt, suggest Dad take Dean and leave Sam behind to deal with his own problems, but one thing had led to another and they were at it again. Arguing over the most asinine things: when Sam had been the one to take out the trash last or how much more effort Dad felt Sam put into his books than their jobs-no, their _lives_.

 

It would have ended there, it could have, but Sam wouldn’t let it drop. He wouldn’t accept that Dad could put their lives on hold, could make his obsession Dean and Sam’s without even considering their feelings or how it would affect them, and then stand there and accuse of Sam of being the one who didn’t care about his family. Accuse Sam of holding everything else above his family.

 

He dropped sullenly down on the third step and did his best to ignore the Latin curses being thrown his way now. This always happened when Dean wasn’t around to keep the peace; Sam let his mouth run away with him; he let his emotions take control and the next thing he knew there was screaming, cursing, and now and then a fist being thrown.

 

Tonight wasn’t like that though. Sam had managed to avoid taking a swing at Dad and narrowly missed Dad’s own shot at him. If he got into it like that with Dad now, it’d only hurt Dean. He was the one constantly being put in the middle, having to soothe Sam and keep Dad from flying off the handle. It wasn’t Dean’s responsibility to fight Sam’s battles, and he didn’t want his brother stepping in every time things got rough.

 

Sam pressed his face into his knees and took a calming breath. Dean would be home soon and he could put this behind him, focus on his brother. There was nothing like replacing an argument with his father, with light hearted banter with Dean. They could play it off, comfort each other in their own ways: Sam because Dad was always on his ass, and Dean because he was always in the middle. Always responsible.

 

He groaned when his cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket and he considered ignoring it. If it was Dean saying he wasn’t coming home, Sam couldn’t deal with that. If he answered he’d have to explain to Dean why he needed to come home; if he ignored it Dean would come straight home. Then Sam could make up some stupid story about having left his phone somewhere in the house.

 

Sure, he’d wind up with a ten minute lecture about scaring Dean half to death, but at least he’d be home. Dad wouldn’t dare say anything about what had happened tonight as long as Sam kept his mouth shut. Neither one of them liked having Dean in the middle, though Sam strongly suspected his main reason for liking Dean to stay out of things was that then he didn’t have to hear how wrong he was.

 

In the end guilt won out, after recalling the last time Sam hadn’t answered his phone in a stubborn attempt at keeping Dean out of his life as much as possible. Dean had damn near broken his nose with the first punch, regretting it instantly if the color draining from his face had been any indication. If that wasn’t it, it was after when he hadn’t left Sam alone for an entire week. Constantly calling him Sammy and making lame and completely obvious jokes about his swollen face, just to be sure Sam wasn’t in more pain than he was letting on.

 

Sam dug the cell phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Hello,” he mumbled against thigh. He jerked up, almost slipping off the step and to the next one at the voice that greeted him. “Mrs. Keyes, hi.”

 

He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the house, half expecting Dad to come barreling out the door at the sound of his school counselor’s name. When he was sure Dad wasn’t going to tackle him to the ground and knock the phone from his hand, he lowered his voice and asked Mrs. Keyes if anything was wrong.

 

The only reason he’d given her his cell phone number was because he knew that if she had heard anything from the schools he applied to, she wouldn’t hesitate to leave the news about them on the cheap answering machine Dad had bought to satisfy the school’s questions. After calling the house numerous times about Sam’s repeated absences and tardies, they’d grown suspicious that anyone even lived there. A quick house check by his counselor had sold Dad on the idea of an answering machine.

 

“I’ve got good news, Sam,” she chirped brightly into the phone. “Very good news.”

 

Sam laughed and leaned forward, resting an arm across his knee. “I could use some good news, right now.”

 

“Well, you’re in luck then. Because I just heard back from Stanford.”

 

Sam’s heart stopped and his mouth went dry. _Stanford_. Stanford was his first choice school, starting out as a way to please Mrs. Keyes and keep her from contacting his father, because in her words ‘there was too much there, to just let go to waste’. That’s what it had been about at first, then it had been about more. About Sam’s need for Dean and if it was half as okay as Dean led him to believe.

 

If he got into Stanford, Dean needed space. If he didn’t, well then home with Dean was exactly where he was supposed to be.

 

“Yeah?” he finally managed to swallow. “Stanford, already?” It had only been a few weeks since he’d sent in his application, usually it would have been another month at least before he got word.

 

“You’re in!” She cried happily. “Full scholarship, Sam! They thought your essay on your brother was absolutely beautiful. There’s no one more Stanford than you Sam, and those are their words.”

 

Sam swallowed and nodded, dumbly forgetting Mrs. Keyes couldn’t see his reaction. Writing his application essay on his brother had been risky, too personal to share. But he’d known coming home that night, with application guiltily tucked away in his backpack, to Dean’s always comforting smile, that there was no one else he could write about. Nobody that inspired him more than his brother.

 

“Sam?” she asked, worry coloring her voice. “Are you there?”

 

“Yes,” he started. “Yes, I’m here. Thank you so much for letting me know, Mrs. Keyes.”

 

She laughed and Sam could imagine her shaking the bright red hair from her face, as she rolled her eyes at his needless thanks. Young and fresh out of college herself, Mrs. Keyes knew how hard it was to leave home, or at least a normal home, and had helped Sam through it every step of the way. Which was also probably one of the reasons she was breaking the rules for him now. “I know it’s a Friday night, but I couldn’t wait until Monday to let you know! Congratulations, Sam. You deserve this! Now go celebrate!”

 

“I will,” Sam lied. “Thank you, again.”

 

A soft snort was her only answer, before Sam was left to listen to the sound of the dial tone. He snapped the phone shut numbly, and slipped it back into his pocket. He still couldn’t believe it. _Stanford_. He’d gotten in and with a full scholarship. At home with Dean, wasn’t where he was meant to be.

 

Sam shook his head, the familiar burn stinging the back of his eyes. No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t that easy. Whether or not he belonged with Dean shouldn’t be hinged on acceptance to some college that only knew his stats, his scores, and his essay about how much his brother inspired and motivated him.

 

_So hard to see myself without him,_

_I felt a piece of my heart break._

_But when you're standing at a crossroad,_

_There's a choice you gotta make._

 

There were a lot of things Sam had to consider, a lot of memories he had to deal with, and undoubtedly a lot of consequences. A lot of things that didn’t matter, because Sam knew what he had to do.

 

He had to go.

 

It wasn’t Stanford, it wasn’t normal, it wasn’t even the fact that he knew his life wasn’t going anywhere. Sam was just suffocating. He was feeling more like a burden to his older brother, and constantly being at odds with Dad…it was eating away at him. Turning him into something he didn’t want to be, someone he couldn’t live with and he’d be damned if he’d force that on the rest of his family.

 

Dean may not see it that way now, maybe not ever, but it was the best for him. For all of them.

 

Sam sighed and sank back against the steps, resting his head on the battered, paint peeled railing. This was a hard decision to make. It would change everything in his life, giving up his family, and Dad…Dad wasn’t going to take this well.

 

But Dean. It was _Dean_ , that destroyed him.

 

There was no way his brother would ever understand this and there was no way Sam could ever ask him to. There was too much history there, too much dependence on each other.

 

Sam knew it wasn’t going to be easy for Dean to move past this, because he could barely stand the thought of it himself.

 

How was he supposed to be anything without Dean? There’d never been anything _but_ Dean in his life-Dean _was_ his life. It was too much to even imagine, to think of going to bed every night without his brother’s warmth beside him. One hand tucked underneath the pillow, resting against the knife Sam knew he kept under there, and the other stretched out between them. Like he was reaching for Sam.

 

_I guess it's gonna have to hurt,_

_I guess I'm gonna have to cry,_

_And let go of some things I've loved,_

_To get to the other side._

 

Just the thought of missing Dean beside him made everything seem overwhelming, too much for him to handle, but at the same time Sam knew that was exactly why he needed to leave. To give Dean his space and let him be his own kind of normal.

 

Their relationship was growing more fucked up everyday. Sam was always reaching out for Dean, more and more until he knew it bordered on wrong and sick and everything else Dad would kill him for. That Dean _should_ kill him for, but never would.

 

The sickest part of him wanted to use that knowledge to his advantage. Maybe even tell Dean that if he wanted Sam in the same way, he’d forget all about Stanford. It would be so easy, so simple to use that against Dean. He wouldn’t even blink before accepting Sam’s offer.

 

Sam wished he could be that guy so badly, he wished that he could do whatever it took to make Dean his, but he couldn’t. He had to settle for the games they played and hope like hell that one day it was Dean that just couldn’t take it anymore, that he was the one that broke down the last of the walls between them.

 

He won out against the sickest part of him, biting down hard on his tongue whenever he felt the deal rise up his throat. Dean was too important to him, to use. Too important for him to blackmail into loving Sam. He didn’t want it to be that way. If Dean was going to be with him, it had to be because he wanted to.

 

Still, he found himself touching-a lot more than he should; taking every opportunity to press against Dean. Sam could feel the shiver creep down his brother’s spine, the hesitance before giving in with that breathtaking smile. It only made Sam want more, want to push and see just how far Dean let it go before instinct kicked in, before the guilt.

 

Sam didn’t have to wait for that, the guilt was always there. He just didn’t listen, he didn’t have to when Dean tilted his head back and laughed with his whole body, or when that smirk Sam couldn’t see anywhere or on anyone else faded into a real grin, his brother’s boyish side peeking through. Or when Dean called him Sammy and ruffled his hair in a way Dean thought he hated. The guilt just didn’t mean much when he got to see Dean like that. Real and happy, true to himself and everyone around him. Nothing measured up then.

 

_I guess it's gonna bring me down,_

_like falling when you're trying to fly._

_It's sad but sometimes,_

_Moving on with the rest of your life,_

_Start with goodbye._

 

Nothing had measured up in a long time to the way he felt about Dean.

 

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the cement step and let out a frustrated breath. Why did things have to be so complicated between them? Why couldn’t Sam just come out and say that he was in love with Dean? Yeah, it was wrong. It was illegal, even. But every part of their lives were made up with wrong and illegal. Why couldn’t Sam just have this one thing? This one thing that made him happy.

 

Because that wasn’t his life, he reminded himself. It wasn’t filled with chance and happiness, not the kind that wasn’t twisted and freakish in comparison to everything else. It shouldn’t even matter that they were brothers. No one would know that, only them. No one knew what they did for a living anyway, or their real names half the time. They were always running, always hiding. Pretending to be something new, something they weren’t, to be who they were.

 

It was great in theory, rational in the most twisted of ways, but Dean would never buy it. Neither would Dad, and that’s who Dean looked up to most. Dean worshipped their dad and if this disappointed them, he’d never agree to it. Not without Sam’s pushing and pleading, and then it would only be out of guilt and loyalty to his brother. He’d be torn between the two people he loved most, and Sam couldn’t do that to Dean. Didn’t want it to be that way for them.

 

The roar of the Impala broke through his thoughts, and Sam brushed away the tears he hadn’t realized had fallen. He scrubbed his hands down his face and cleared his throat quickly, hoping like hell his face wasn’t red or swollen, or his eyes puffy. Even in the dark Dean wouldn’t miss something so obvious.

 

He watched Dean pull up in front of the rundown home they’d lived in for nearly six months, faint traces of Metallica catching his ear. It shut off just as quickly, and long denim clad legs appeared with the familiar creak of the Impala‘s driver side door. Followed by a tight black t-shirt Sam hadn’t remembered his brother leaving in, and leather jacket. Sam didn’t raise his gaze any higher than Dean‘s mouth, too afraid to find moss green eyes on his.

 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grinned, slamming the Impala’s door shut with a reverence that made Sam’s heart ache.

 

Something so stupid, so meaningless, but so Dean, made it impossible not to smile and shake his head at the freak his brother was.

 

“Hey,” he returned, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Where ya been?”

 

Dean’s grin widened and a low chuckle hit Sam hard in the gut. Yeah, he knew where Dean had been now. Knew that if his brother came close enough he’d smell like smoke, cheap alcohol-and if Sam was really lucky-cheap perfume.

 

“Forget I asked,” Sam mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Something you wanna talk about, Sam?” Dean took a seat on the step below him, the leather of his jacket crinkling with his movements as he leaned back and elbowed his younger brother.

 

Sam gave a half shrug and glanced away. It shouldn’t surprise him that Dean suspected something; his brother had always known what Sam needed before he needed it. Right now, Sam really wished that weren’t true. That he had something he could use against Dean, to think about while he broke his brother’s heart and their family up, so that he didn’t burst into tears at the disappointment behind moss green eyes.

 

There was nothing though, not one time in his life where Dean had ever been anything but the great older brother he was. Sure they fought and Dean teased him mercilessly at times, but never when he knew it would hurt Sam. Never when it was something that was serious, something that meant more than embarrassment and a flush of cheeks.

 

“It’s eating you up,” Dean said quietly, refusing to give up so easily. “Has been for a while now.”

 

“It’s not good,” Sam answered hoarsely. He kept his face turned, eyes locked in the distance on nothing particular. Just anything that wasn’t Dean. “You won’t like it. Or me very much, for that matter.”

 

Sam heard his brother shift, his back straighten and his hand come to rest on Sam’s knee. “Can’t be that bad, Sam. Try me.”

 

_I know there's a blue horizon,_

_Somewhere up ahead, just waiting for me,_

_Getting there means leaving things behind,_

_Sometimes life's so bitter sweet._

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said instead. He glanced back at Dean. “I know you’re sick of hearing it, but I am.” He wasn’t ready to admit to Dean that he was leaving, that he couldn’t stay anymore. It felt like maybe one last apology was in order.

 

Dean shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry for, Sammy. My girl’s still in one piece, and so‘s the Impala.” Dean’s mouth tilted up into a smirk, tugging sharply at his heart.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam choked out. He was so sorry for everything. Sorry that he couldn’t play along with Dean now, joke and laugh things off. Sorry that he wasn’t going to give Dean that one last thing.

 

“For what?” Dean sighed. “Were you and Dad fighting again?”

 

Sam nodded, ashamed with himself all over again.

 

“Man, Sammy.” Dean shook his head, squeezing Sam’s knee sympathetically. “You can’t let him get to you, you know he doesn’t mean half the things he-”

 

“It doesn’t change the fact that he says them,” Sam snapped, shoving Dean’s hand away. He couldn’t stand to sit there and listen to Dean with his falsely comforting words, and feel the heat of his hand seeping in through Sam’s jeans. Not when he knew he was about to ruin everything good between him and Dean.

 

Dean let his hand drop into his lap and nodded, jaw tightening. “You’re right, it doesn’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam swore, the third time in under five minutes. “It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” Dean was only trying to help Sam, to comfort him.

 

“It’s fine. I get it.” Dean shrugged, draping an arm over Sam’s thigh. “But you’re going to have to learn to handle him when I’m gone, Sammy. Walk away, whatever you gotta do.”

 

Sam hung his head. “I tried, I really did.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Dean shot him a half grin and made to stand up. “I’ll go see if Dad’s calmed down yet.”

 

Sam nodded, watching Dean’s body shift. Knees bent, ready to push up off the step, and Sam could feel his chance slipping away. If he didn’t tell Dean now, he never would. He’d wait until the bus to Palo Alto came, and there was no putting it off any longer. But Dean deserved better than that, and Sam was going to make sure he had fair warning at the very least.

 

“Wait,” Sam blurted out. “I-”

 

“If you apologize one more time,” Dean said, leaning closer. “I’m going to give you a reason.” He shook his head at Sam’s silence, taking it for another attempt at apologizing, and squeezed Sam’s knee. “See, you are the smart one. Come on, let‘s go inside and-”

 

Sam took a deep breath and went for it, not bothering to let Dean finish his latest plan for family peace.

 

_I guess it's gonna have to hurt,_

_I guess I'm gonna have to cry,_

_The night goes on, and some things that I'll have,_

_To give to the other side._

 

“I got accepted to Stanford, and I’m going.” One big rush, no pause, no drama, no second thoughts. It was all there now and all he could do was sit and wait for Dean to strangle him. Or maybe just knock his jaw out of place. Anything, as long as Dean didn‘t pull away all together.

 

The warmth of Dean’s hand disappeared with a strangled sound. Sam tensed, waiting for the crack of his jaw as Dean landed his first hit. When it didn’t come, Sam began to relax, looking his brother over worriedly.

 

“I don’t suppose that’s a suppressed sound of delight,” he muttered miserably. Nothing had played out the way he wanted it to, nothing had come out of his mouth right. There’d been no explanation of why or what this all really meant, first. It was straight to the point and all. Fucking. Wrong.

 

“Sammy…” Dean shook his head and leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

 

There was no anger in his voice, no disappointment, just _pain_. Raw, unadulterated pain like Sam could never have prepared for.

 

“Dean, I-”

 

“Why?” Dean interrupted. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Sam, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Why would you…”

 

Why would he what? Rip their family apart? Sam didn’t know, maybe it had something to do with the way that he could so easily fall in love with Dean. So easily fuck up his brother’s world. Sam was pretty sure it had something to do with that.

 

“Is this,” Dean shrugged. “Is this not enough? Did I-”

 

“It’s not you,” Sam swore. “It’s-”

 

“It’s you?” Dean snorted. “Christ, it sounds like you’re breaking up with me. ‘It’s not you, it’s me…we had some great times, but I think it’s best we both moved on’…right, Sammy?”

 

_I guess it's gonna bring me down,_

_Like falling when you're trying to fly._

_It's sad but sometimes,_

_Moving on with the rest of your life,_

_Start with goodbye._

 

Yeah, there’d been some great times. There’d been a lot of great times, honestly. Any time he’d spent with Dean alone and laughing, any time he’d seen Dean laugh without force, any time Dean threw an arm around Sam. Anytime with Dean, period.

 

And, yeah, it was best if they both moved on. Maybe more for Dean on that one, but best for someone.

 

And, yeah, it was Sam, not Dean. He’d been over that one in his mind a thousand different times, in a thousand different ways. Sam was the cause, Sam was the reason. Sam was the problem.

 

But, no, those weren’t the right answers. They weren’t what Dean wanted to hear. Dean wanted some kind of solid fact that could make this okay, some reason that didn’t place blame on either of them. Some reason that Sam didn’t have, or couldn’t give.

 

“Yeah,” Sam swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His tongue heavy. “That’s exactly it.”

 

Dean made a sound of disgust, finally managing to get on his feet without any of Sam’s half thought out stall tactics. “Everyone knows when a guy says that, he’s full of shit. So, you wanna tell me what’s really going on here?”

 

“Nothing to tell,” Sam insisted. “It’s just better this way. I’m doing this for you.”

 

_Time, time heals,_

_The wounds that you feel._

_Somehow, right now._

 

“For me?” Dean laughed sharply, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Doing this for me,” he repeated. “Christ, of all the things you could do for me, Sam.”

 

“Like what?” Sam bit down sharply on his tongue. This wasn’t about Sam’s sick thoughts, wasn’t about all the ways he wanted to make Dean feel. Why couldn’t he remember that long enough to make it through this fight?

 

Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?” Obviously he hadn’t expected Sam to ask for details.

 

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head, he wasn’t going there. Dean hadn’t taken the hint, and Sam wasn’t walking into that. “This is better for both of us. Just trust me on that.”

 

“Trust you?” Dean stood then, done with the conversation. Done with Sam. “Like I trusted you not to go behind my back and do your best to get the hell away from me. Right.” Dean nodded, mouth twisting into false thoughtfulness. “ I’ll be sure to do that.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. “Dean, come on. It’s not like that.”

 

“I think it is,” Dean disagreed. “You didn’t even talk to me about this, about Stanford. You just went and did it. Made this big decision on your own-and yeah,” Dean went on, cutting off Sam’s huffed protest. “I get that you’re a big boy, Sam. But this…this decision, affects all of us. Not just you.”

 

“Why do you think I’m telling you now? I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, I wasn’t going to put this between us if I didn’t even get in. That’s why I didn’t tell you about it.”

 

“Like you wouldn’t get in,” Dean snorted, the smallest hint of pride creeping into his voice. It’s gone before Sam can enjoy it though, and Dean’s scowling down at him. “You should have told me.”

 

“Dean, come on,” Sam reached up, fingers brushing the soft leather of Dean’s jacket before he jerks back.

 

“Don’t, Sam,” Dean snapped, raising a hand in warning. “All right? Just give me some space.”

 

Space? He didn’t want to give Dean any fucking space. Just the thought of it scared the hell out of Sam. When Dean was left alone to think he only drew his own twisted conclusions, wouldn’t even think to run them past Sam, to ask.

 

He would just assume that Sam’s leaving was on him, that he’d done something wrong. It wasn’t like he’d listened to Sam earlier about anything, now he was going to run off with the Impala and come back wasted and angry. Guilty and blaming himself.

 

“Wait,” Sam said. He let his hand drop to his side, digging his fingers into the palm of his hand to keep from reaching out again. “At least let me explain.”

 

“Explain?” he yelled. “What the hell is there to explain, Sam? You’re _leaving_ , right? I think it’s pretty fucking simple.”

 

“It’s not!” Fuck, it was anything but simple. “This isn’t easy for me, Dean. I didn’t do this because I wanted you to hate me.” Sam shoved his hands through his hair, tugging sharply at the ends to break the numbness beginning to seep through his body.

 

Dean snorted and stepped back. He shook his head at Sam and let out another snort, so amused with Sam’s argument. “You got a better reason for doing this? Do you even have a reason? Because I can’t think of a damn reason for leaving you.”

 

_I guess it's gonna have to hurt,_

_I guess I'm gonna have to cry,_

_And let go of some things I've loved,_

_To get to the other side._

 

Sam’s fists clenched involuntarily and he gave a tight nod of his head. There was nothing to say to that, nothing that could even come close. He knew Dean was right, knew that his brother would never leave him for anything. This was a life Dean loved, the life he felt he was made for. Hunting, family, loyalty. That’s what mattered.

 

There was nothing Sam could do to change Dean’s mind, to make him forgive and forget.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Dean sneered. And it was just. Too. Fucking. Much.

 

Sam was on his feet, crowding Dean back against the rickety railing before his brother could finish whatever taunt he had in store. “I’ve got plenty of reason for doing this,” Sam growled, towering over his brother by a good two inches. That growth spurt really came in handy sometimes. “You think I’d leave if I didn’t think so?”

 

“What reason?” Dean challenged, stepping into the small distance between them until their noses were almost touching. Mouths only a breath apart. “What reason’s good enough for abandoning your family? And don‘t you dare tell me it‘s for my own good.”

 

_Loving them too much_ , was what Sam wanted to say. _Or at least you_. The way Sam was swaying on his feet now just at the closeness of his brother, was more than enough reason on its own.

 

What came out of his mouth though was, “I’d have to have a family to leave first.”

 

Dean went ramrod straight, moss green eyes turning almost black, and Sam was pretty sure his breathing stopped as quickly as Sam‘s. “Guess so,” Dean hissed. “Good thing you don’t, huh?”

 

_I guess it's gonna bring me down,_

_like falling when you're trying to fly._

_It's sad but sometimes,_

_Moving on with the rest of your life,_

_Start with goodbye._

 

His brother shoved forward, knocking Sam back a step, and headed straight for the Impala. Sam should have known it would be Dean’s second reaction; his first was always to lash out. Sam hesitated, torn between letting his brother go and cool off, and fixing things before they got out of hand. He knew he couldn’t leave things like that with Dean, he’d never sleep.

 

He’d wind up sitting on the doorstep until Dean finally decided to come home. Then he probably wouldn’t even talk to Sam, just brush right past him and refuse to speak to him unless absolutely necessary. And Sam couldn’t have that.

 

He spun around and caught the sleeve of Dean’s jacket. “Stop. Dean,” Sam pleaded, jerking his brother back. “I didn’t mean that! Would you just stop?!”

 

“For what, Sam?” Dean roared, whirling back around and bringing them face to face once again. “Why would I stop? It’s not going to stop you from leaving, is it?”

 

Dean snorted and shoved Sam back down on the steps, his elbow scraping against the concrete. He shook the bangs from his eyes and took a steadying breath.

 

“Do you even want me to stay?” Sam asked, seriously. “Or is this some obligatory big brother routine?” Because Sam really needed to know where he stood with Dean, needed to know if Dean felt any of that same suffocation.

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed sarcastically. “That’s exactly it, Sam. I can’t wait until you move on and forget me. I’ve got a calendar somewhere marking down the days,” he went on, pointing towards the house. “Want me to go find it for you?”

 

“I’m serious,” Sam ignored his brother’s attempt at deflections and leaned back on the steps, ignoring the stinging in his arm as it came in contact with the cement again. “Is this just some big show or do you really have a reason?” _Does this mean more?_

 

Dean stared down at him as if considering whether or not Sam was serious. He was dead serious. Dean could have his fits, his anger, but he could never be straight with Sam, and Sam wasn’t going to let it go this time. If there was something more there between them, if this game they’d been playing was more than a game to Dean, he wanted to know now. It had to be said now, because any time after would be an attempt at keeping Sam home. An attempt at bargaining Dean for Sam’s loyalty.

 

“Wanting my brother with me doesn’t count as a reason?” Dean finally asked.

 

“No.” Sam didn’t think so. There were plenty of families with kids of different ages, and sure it was usually the oldest that went off to college first, but it was the same thing.

 

Dean took a step forward, his hips almost perfectly aligned with Sam’s mouth, not that Sam had taken any notice, and shook his head. “What counts then?”

 

Sam swallowed hard and tore his eyes from the perfect view of Dean’s crotch, up past sinful mouth, to cloudy green eyes. Dean was as uncertain as he was about where this was going, and if the challenging lilt to Dean’s voice meant anything, it would fall on Sam to make the change.

 

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” Sam shook his head. “I always hurt you.” Whether Sam had talked to Dean about Stanford or not, his brother would have been hurt. He would have had the same reaction. But staying would only hurt his brother in the end too, Dean just didn’t know it.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a girl, Sam,” he scoffed. “You keep talking like that, and I’m going to start wondering.”

 

“I’m not being a girl!” Sam yelled. He was fed up with Dean‘s ignorance and the easy way he joked about everything. “I’m being honest with you. I’m trying to make you fucking understand!” Why couldn’t Dean do that? Why couldn’t he listen and understand that Sam wanted more than hunting, than cheap fucks, and hustling?

 

_I guess I'm gonna have to cry,_

_And let go of some things I've loved._

_To get to the other side,_

_Starts with goodbye._

 

The screen door slammed open, Dad making his first appearance since the whole thing had started. Dean visibly tensed, coming to stand in front of Sam in a familiar protective stance. Sam’s heart fluttered, his hands reaching out involuntarily to fist in the back of Dean’s jacket. Even now, even as angry as he was, Dean was still worried about Sam. Still wanted to protect Sam.

 

How was Sam supposed to move on from that?

 

“What the hell’s going on out here?” Dad demanded, his gaze drifting between his two sons. “The neighbors may be a mile away, but the way you two are carrying on we’ll be lucky they don’t have the cops out here in two minutes flat.”

 

“Sorry, Dad,” Dean apologized, charm and respect coloring his angry tone. “Just having a little brotherly disagreement over who gets more girls. Won’t happen again.”

 

“Better not,” Dad grumbled. He didn’t buy Dean’s story for a second and it didn’t take a genius to point it out to them. Dad was just too pissed with Sam to stick around now that Dean was home. Nothing sucked more than hearing you were wrong from Dean.

 

Dad glared once more at Sam and disappeared back into the house, leaving Sam to feel as fucked over as ever.

 

Sam dropped his forehead against Dean’s back. “You always do that.”

 

“Do what?” Dean shifted underneath his hands, but didn’t pull away.

 

“Protect me. It doesn’t matter what it is, or how much you hate me, you always protect me.” It fucking made Sam’s heart ache to know that kind of dedication and love, and to be able to harbor such twisted feelings for Dean despite it all.

 

Dean sighed, reaching around to cup Sam’s hip. “I don’t ever hate you, Sam. I protect you because you’re my brother, doesn’t matter what you do.”

 

“I don’t want to go,” Sam whispered. He felt Dean tense up beneath him again, fingers flexing around his hip. Maybe that wasn’t the thing to say, or admit when he was the one pushing Stanford, but he just couldn’t stand there and let Dean think anything else. Not after the way Dean had so easily set aside his own feelings for Sam’s sake.

 

_The only way you try to find,_

_Moving on with the rest of your life,_

_Start with goodbye._

 

“So, don’t. I’m not gonna make you.”

 

Sam laughed. “You never make me do anything I don’t want to.” Puppy dog eyes could get Sam out of anything, except maybe this.

 

Dean shrugged. “You want me to?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam breathed. He did. If Dean told him to go, if Dean made Stanford something important, he could do this. He could walk away.

 

“I can’t-”

 

“Please,” Sam pleaded. “I don’t want to go, but…”

 

“But you have to,” Dean supplied after a beat, the tension slowly draining from his body with his understanding.

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I do.” He tightened his hold on Dean’s jacket and pressed his face firmly into the crook of his brother’s neck. So easy, just so easy to stay there. To forget why he started this whole fight in the first place.

 

“Then go.” He pulled out of Sam’s grip, and turned to face him. Dean tangled his hand in Sam’s hair and pulled him into a tight hug. “You have to go.”

 

Sam nodded and gave himself over one last time. “Thank you,” he said, burying his face back into the crook of Dean’s neck. That's what he needed, just one push from Dean. One chance to move on and change things between them. And maybe forget that the love he felt for Dean, was more than what could ever be.


End file.
